Peeta Mellark Reaping Day
by MeganSouls
Summary: I extend my arm and Katniss shakes my hand, her eyes still fixated on my face. Trying to tell me something through the pools of tears in her grey eyes. Seam eyes. I remember you, Peeta Mellark, I'm sure she's telling me. You're the boy with the bread. Peeta Mellark's point of view of what happened on the day Prim was pulled out of the glass ball and Katniss volunteers.
1. Chapter 1

**I've based this more on the film than I have the book, though all three of the books are absolutely amazing. I tried to show how deeply Peeta loved Katniss right from the start, so I hope that came across. I wrote this story from Peeta Mellark's point of view, and what happened on the reaping day when he saw Katniss Everdeen, the girl he has loved since he was five, give away her life for her sister Primrose. I hope you enjoy reading!**

**- MeganSouls**

_Peeta Mellark – Reaping Day_

"Here," A thin comb is handed to me and I look at it doubtfully. "Come your hair back; give the cameras something to look at apart from your bitter expression." My mother, who was especially edgy today, pushes me out of the way so she can attend to a customer who was dinging the bell in the bakery. I place the comb on the table and instead use my fingers to smooth back my hair into a somewhat formal hairstyle. I hated it, but after all, this was reaping day. It wasn't a day for arguments with my brothers or my father or even my mother. It was an unspoken truce.

"We'd better get a move on." I hear my eighteen year old brother say beside me. He uses the comb instead, taking it from where it laid neglected on the dining room table. "We don't want to be late."

I move to the front of the house and I begin closing the windows, pulling down the shutters. To close out the other kids who will be reaped today. I'm moving to the widest window by the bookshelf when I see her.

Katniss Everdeen. Her hair pinned back in several braids. Her hand resting on her little sister's shoulder. I watch them walk past, their faces mournful, and I remember it was Prim's first reaping. Her sister glances my way and I pull the shutters down quickly. I know she saw me, though. The boy who gave her sister the bread.

"You staring at your girlfriend?" My eldest brother sniggers. Sure, he's relaxed today. He's twenty years old, and no longer attends the reaping. He's sprawled out on the saggy couch, grinning at me, biting away at some stale bread he must have found in the pantry. "God, Peeta, give it a rest."

I ignore him. I don't hug my mother goodbye, but she does nod at me and adjust my collar on the stiff shirt that used to be my father's before he outgrew it. She rests her hand on my cheek and attempts a smile. I nod back at her, open the front door, and I let the stifling hot day distract me from my biggest worries. Getting reaped.

My brother breaks away from me almost immediately as a group of boys in his school are waiting outside of the bakery. I carry on walking, letting the coal dust ruin my shoes, my eyes searching for Katniss and her little sister. I wonder if they are already waiting, the stage looming in front of them, standing in silence as the sun glares on them in all directions.

I don't know how far I've travelled until I walk straight into the desk in which I'm required to sign it at.

"Name?"

"What?" I ask, confused for a moment, before I splutter, "Peeta Mellark."

The needle sticks into my forefinger and I wince as the cut is smeared under my name, and I'm sent off to the small pens where we are told to stand. I'm one of the last to appear. I stand near the back of the male sixteen year olds, hoping to camouflage in with the other beige shirts and leather shoes. I peer around a tall boy with black hair and I watch silently as Effie Trinket begins to walk across the stage.

"Welcome, welcome!" Her voice irritates me; high in places, ending in a question, and constantly upbeat. Her clothes are almost as blinding as the sun; bright pink jacket with matching high heels, a short fuchsia skirt, and a crazy blonde wig perched on top of her surgically alerted head. I shake my head slightly. "Ladies first!"

Her hand moves inside the bowl and she digs for a name. As she gathers suspense, I wonder how many are labelled _Katniss Everdeen_. A lot, probably. She must have signed up for a tesserae, which gave them grain and oil for each person. I never had too; we had stale food at the bakery, and that was always enough. My eyes search for her in the mass of girls but I can't find her.

"Primrose Everdeen!"

Effie's voice echoes dramatically. Maybe a problem with the speaker, or maybe it was just my thoughts. _Primrose Everdeen_! I can hear the murmurs of the girls and some of the boys are muttering too, but the boy in front of me curls up his hands, locks his jaw, and looks like he is about to start a rebellion by the look in his eyes. I realize with a jolt who it is. Gale Hawthorne. Katniss' best friend. Possibly her lover, I'm not sure. If it is him, that's his friends little sister walking up to the stage, backed up my Peacekeepers. Then, something unexpected happens.

I see Katniss, pushing her way through the army of girls, and ducking under the rope that kept them all in place. A strangled scream falls out of her lips. "Prim!" She cries, and she starts to run. Gale is by the rope himself now, but he doesn't follow. The Peacekeepers pull Katniss back but she's fighting them off. Maybe all of that training in the woods that surround District Twelve, or maybe sudden determination.

"I volunteer!" She shouts, and I inhale sharply. _No, please. _I want to beg. _Please..._ She stands, smoothing her dress. "I volunteer as tribute!"

Ghostly silence surrounds me, until Prim starts to scream at her sister.

"Katniss!" Prim cries, and Gale ducks under the rope and runs towards them both. To drag Prim away from her sister that is barely holding back tears. To drag Prim past me, and to her mother. My eyes are locked on Katniss as the Peacekeepers glance at each other uncertainly before escorting her to the stage. I try to swallow a large lump in my throat but it sticks.

"Our very first volunteer!" Effie says enthusiastically. I'm breathing deeply. I can't believe what I've just heard. Of course, it made sense. Katniss had looked after her family for years now and she would not let the Capitol take that away. What didn't make sense is how Primrose Everdeen emerged out of a bowl with thousands of names. The chances were so little. Gale ducks back under the rope, takes his place back in front of me, and tries to look expressionless. But his hands are still fists. "What is your name, dear?"

Her voice is a million years old when she speaks. "Ka... Katniss Everdeen."

Katniss Everdeen. The starving eleven year old girl sat by the ancient apple tree that never gave any fruit. Dying in the rain and covered in mud. The bones sticking out of her pale face and her hair in knots but scraped into a braid which fell down her back. So innocent but still mourning her father who died in the mines. I try to slow down my breathing, but it doesn't work.

"Now for the boys!" My attention focuses back on the giant ball which holds five pieces of paper bearing my name. Effie's hand, with long pink nails, reaches in and pulls out a piece of paper. "Peeta Mellark!"

My heart starts to thud faster and faster. I feel the cameras settling on my face and I know my mouth is gaping open slightly. Gale turns and he stares at me, but so is everyone. Effie is beckoning me up and the Peacekeepers are reaching for me so I have no choice but to shuffle numbly forward, stagger up the steps, and take my place beside Katniss Everdeen, the girl from the Seam.

"Any volunteers?" Maybe Effie is hoping for a double volunteer. That would be good for the cameras. But I know no-one will volunteer for me. Effie gives everyone several seconds to consider. In this time, my eyes scan the crowd for my brother. He stands, people in the crowd looking at him now, expecting him to volunteer. His eyes meet mine and he mimes something. _I'm sorry_. No, he isn't going to volunteer for me. That was the plan we had made, at my first reaping, when I was twelve and he was fourteen.

"_We don't have to volunteer for each other, ok?" He says, holding out his hand, just before my first reaping. "There are no hard feelings."_

"_Ok." I say, because I knew I wouldn't volunteer for him. My hand reaches out and we shake on it. He squeezes my fingers._

"_Good luck today, Pita." He grins, calling me his stupid nickname in which he knew I hated. "Try not to get reaped."_

"Please put your hands together for the District Twelve tributes, Peeta Mellark and Katniss Everdeen!"

Silence. I try hard not to glance at my now fellow tribute but instead stare out into the crowd. They all move at once, raising their left hands into the air, three fingers with the other two pressed in the palm. At this point, I glance at Katniss. I don't recognize the salute. But she does. Her eyes water but she has her jaw clenched, maybe reminding her not to cry. I know it's from the Seam. Maybe it was used at her father's funeral.

"Come on you two, shake hands." Effie coughs slightly at the silence from the crowd, and she grabs hold of my elbow and yanks me towards Katniss. I turn to face her and I see my pain reflected in her face. She remembers. I'm the boy with the bread, who didn't leave her starving in the rain, who didn't call the community home or Peacekeepers to take her away. Who gave her the bread that I'd messed up on purpose. Who gave her two loaves of bread in the pouring January rain. Who went to bed that night with my cheek still stinging from the violent hit from my mother with a leather shoe of my father's.

I extend my arm and she shakes my hand, her eyes still fixated on my face. Trying to tell me something through the pools of tears in her grey eyes. _I remember you. The boy with the bread._

**I'm not sure if this is a one off, I may do some other parts of the story from Peeta's point of view, maybe some parts in the arena or saying goodbye to his mother who tells him she knows he won't survive. Thank you for reading, and please leave a review if you liked my story. Thanks!**

**-MeganSouls **


	2. Chapter 2

**Peeta's point of view of the goodbyes with his family, including the brother that wouldn't volunteer for him and his mother that believes he won't survive. Also, Peeta trying to convince his father to take care of Primrose Everdeen and Mrs Everdeen so they won't starve whilst Katniss is in the arena. I hope you enjoy this part of Peeta Mellark's story.**

**-MeganSouls**

_Peeta Mellark – Reaping Day_

A Peacekeeper pushes on my back and another pushes down hard on my shoulder, forcing me forward, Katniss Everdeen stumbling down the steps beside me. The cameras, now fixated on our faces, follow us as we walk – or are lead – towards the Justice Building. Our emotions will be vital at this point, but Katniss is holding her face well, even though her eyes show a sort of fear that I can't explain. The fear wasn't for her life.

Katniss had no reason to worry, anyway. Surely she could defend herself. I've spent countless minutes by the kitchen window, peering around the blinds, watching her slide under the fence by the butchers next door, running in a low crouch through the grass and disappearing into the trees. She wouldn't go in there unprotected. She could hold knives, spears, and I knew for a fact she was trained with archery as I'd seen her father with bows and arrows.

Katniss Everdeen's father had so closely resembled Katniss that I knew she has a knack for survival. She could kill me in seconds if she grabbed a weapon. Slit my throat, chop off my limbs, or even break my neck with her hands. I grit my teeth as I think of the next month. How could I make it out alive now Katniss was in the arena? My victory means her death. Her victory means my death. At least one of us will end up dead, and I know it will be me that dies.

The ancient oak doors are pushed open and we're bustled through. Katniss is taken into a room and I'm shoved into another. The doors close behind me and I stagger back a few steps, my hands covering my lips, but I know I can't break down here. Me getting reaped was my worst nightmare, and now Katniss Everdeen would be thrown into the arena with me. A shiver makes its way down my spine and I jump when the door opens and my parents walk in.

I collapse into the plush couch and my father sits beside me. He reaches out and he grasps my hand. I shift awkwardly, because if anyone had showed me any affection, it certainly wasn't my father. His hands are warm and burnt from years of kneading and baking bread that they are rough, but still comforting, in a way. My mother stands, her hair scraped back in a formal bun and her chin high, hovering by the door. She moves over when our eyes meet, and she perches on the side of the couch, and starts smoothing back my hair for the cameras. This simple movement, of her prettying me up for the people chanting for my death, hits me in a way that causes me to shove my father away, jump to my feet, and start backing away.

"Stop it!" I scream, and my hands go up to my hair to shake it out of my hairstyle, letting it fall ruffled and blonde. "How can you not say _anything_ to me? I'm going to be _fighting_ in less than a _week_ and _all_ you can do is _hold my hand_ and_ tidy up my hair_?"

They sit, stunned and still silent. My hands reach out to smash a vase that sits bearing some lilies. My father stands up, his hands to prevent me attacking, and I stand, panting, my hands fists and my cheeks inflamed.

"Peeta, calm down, alright?" My father says softly. I stare at him, because how can I calm down? Soon I'll be dead. District Twelve tributes never win. Not since Haymitch Abernathy, and that was twenty four years ago. "Calm down, don't hurt your hands." I look down blankly at my palms and I see, apart from the burns from ovens inflicted long ago, they are unharmed.

"Look after Primrose Everdeen." My voice is shaky and it causes my father to raise his eyebrows. "Look after Katniss Everdeen's little sister Prim, ok?"

He looks at my mother and then back at me, his eyebrows knitted together. "Peeta, Katniss' family are not our friends now."

"You will look after Katniss Everdeen's family because you _cannot_ let them starve, not Primrose, not Mrs Everdeen, because they were starving enough once and they've had their share of hunger." I demand, and my mother's eyes meet mine. She remembers she sent Katniss away when she was searching our bins. She knows she beat me around the jaw with a shoe. She knows, and she remembers.

"This year District Twelve could finally have a winner." My mother says flatly. I look at her, slightly surprised. "She's a fighter, that one."

My head snaps up at her and her eyes flit away. Why couldn't she have kept that to herself? Why couldn't she have lied, and said she had faith in her youngest son? I knew why; she loved hurting my feelings, making me feel small, and I almost felt she wanted me to get reaped. Fewer mouths to feed and fewer kids to worry about. I don't have time to argue with her because the Peacekeepers are back and pulling them out. I don't tell them I love them as they leave, because right now, I don't.

The next person to push through the door is my second eldest brother, the one that didn't volunteer for me. There isn't any awkwardness, surprisingly. His hands embrace me and we stand in a tight hug that may only last a few seconds, but means more to me than the words of my father and mother.

"I'm sorry, Peeta," He says, and I know he means it. It was his last reaping, and now he was free of the grasp of the Capitol. If I was eighteen, and it was him that had gotten reaped, maybe I would have volunteered. To protect him, but I wasn't sure. Watching the Hunger Games, every child knows that the odds certainly aren't in your favour.

"It's ok," The words are choked and we grasp hands. "I'm ok."

"No, you're not." He says. "You're strong; you've thrown kilos and kilos of flour and grain in the bakery, and you've got more scars than you can count. You've got a real chance at this, Peeta; don't let yourself down just because of the stupid Careers."

The Careers. I hadn't even considered the thought of the teenagers from District One, District Two and District Four. I shiver at the thought of their muscles, the height, and blood thirst.

"I'll see you when this is over, alright?" He says, as the Peacekeepers are back. "I'm sorry, Peeta, and I'll see you soon!" The door slams shut and I'm shaking from my brother's visit. His honest apologies. His faith in me. _I'll see you soon. _

No-one else comes to visit me. Not my older brother, not anyone from school. I sit silently, tears streaming down my cheeks, on the couch as the last thirty minutes tick by and the Peacekeepers come back to retrieve me. My shoulders are gripped and I'm marched out of the room, my right side forced against Katniss', and we're pulled into a car next to Effie Trinket, who is smiling manically and starts talking excitedly about velvet bedding.

Katniss' expression is smooth, but mine is crumpled as tears run continuously down my cheeks. I tune Effie out as I gulp down my tears and fumbling, I wipe away the tears that are lingering on my cheeks as I step out of the car at the station, and we are pulled onto a train.

Fluffy carpets. Painted walls. Bowls filled with beverages I don't know the name of and fruits that I have never seen. Katniss and I glance at each other as we stand in front of a posh room full of oak furniture, and large televisions. She swallows and I try to give her a comforting smile, but I think it shows as a grimace.

Effie and Katniss settle down at the dining table, Effie delicately nibbling at some chicken and Katniss staring at her full plate, but I move to the window and stare District Twelve soaring past our window until it's just a mass of land in the distance. District Twelve, and I'm never going back. My final breaths won't be at home, but in the hands of some evil child in the arena.

**Thank you for reading and please review!**

**-MeganSouls **


	3. Chapter 3

**I thought I'd carry on this story with the training from Haymitch, probably skipping Effie, and the interview with Caesar Flickerman when he declares his love for Katniss Everdeen. I hope you enjoy!**

_Peeta Mellark – Reaping Day_

"You've had some offers."

I lean back in the plush armchair, my eyebrows probably halfway up my forehead. Haymitch said across from me, reeking of liquor and something else I can't quite place, grinning. "What do you mean, offers?" I ask.

"You got your eight in training, right?"

My eyebrows push together. "Yes."

"The Careers picked up on this," Haymitch says, and he flicks some buttons on the table in front of us and leans back again. "The Career tributes, particularly Marvel, Glimmer, Clove and Cato, are interested."

"I don't want to become a Career. I don't want to be a part of their team."

Haymitch leans forward, just as the table slides open and a bottle of wine on ice appears. I glare at it and Haymitch smirks.

"Listen, boy, at my words. _Katniss Everdeen_."Haymitch pours the wine into a glass that an Avox hastily thrust into his hands. I raise my eyebrows, expecting more, but Haymitch just slurps down the wine and pours himself some more.

"What do you mean, Katniss Everdeen?"

"You two got everybody talking when you first appeared in the chariots." Haymitch tells me. I know this, I saw their excitement myself. "Flames, hair, make-up, all adding to the effect of two perfect tributes. However, the thing people noticed the most, was the hand holding."

My cheeks flush. There is something in Haymitch's eyes that suggest he knows I like Katniss. He smirks again and finishes his second glass. "So?" I mutter, my eyes on my highly polished shoes.

"I want you to show yourselves as _lovers_." Haymitch emphasises on 'lovers' as I'm staring blankly at him.

Katniss Everdeen, presented as my lover, as my girlfriend, for the entertainment of the Capitol. Completely false to her, but meaning everything in the world to me. I nod at Haymitch.

"I want you to go onto your interview with Caesar and blow the others away." Haymitch sips from his wine glass and raises his eyebrows. My mouth opens to form words but Haymitch cuts over me. "You won't be blowing Katniss away, either. She'll be in her Cinna designed outfit, all on fire for the cameras, and then you'll walk on, say how much you love her, and trust me, this will make the odds _very_ much in your favour." His eyes scan my face for any traces of disapproval. Since there isn't any, he smiles. "Thoughts?"

Thoughts. My head is buzzing with them, but they are not for Haymitch's ears. "I think it's a good idea." I say lamely. "It will... really give us a boost in the arena."

"Oh, and Peeta?" Haymitch finishes his third glass of wine but he still looks surprisingly steady. "Don't be mad with Katniss just because she beat you in training. It wasn't her fault she got provoked; there wasn't really any need to stop you two preparing together."

If that's what Haymitch thinks, I let him think that. But that isn't the truth. The reason I stopped preparing for the interviews and things with Katniss was because I was sick of being so sullen around her. We were all laughing in front of the other tributes but when it came to being alone, she was so unwelcoming it just made my heart ache for her. And anyway, is that what everyone really thought? I was made at Katniss because she beat me in training? There was no surprise when she did, really. Archery. Knife throwing. Determination. And now anger that gave her an edge the Gamemakers liked. Just add that to the list of things she can kill me with apart from her own strength.

"But what does Katniss have to do with the Careers?"

Haymitch leans forward again. "Keep the Careers away from her. We both agree you're smart enough to keep yourself alive. I've had a few words with Seneca Crane, and you and Katniss will be reunited in the games, leading you away from the Careers."

"What do you mean 'a few words'?"

"You'll see." Haymitch says, and we spend the next three and a half hours preparing for my interview.

Every tribute has exactly three minutes to amaze the crowd, Caesar, and hopefully the whole of Panem. Charm or any characteristics will get you sponsors. Witty, funny, attractive, sullen, dark, happy, giggly, and lots more that Haymitch runs by me.

Portia has me dressed in a black suit with crimson around the cuffs and collar. On more careful observation, I see flames around the rim of the jacket and on the shirt, and a flick of glitter on the back of each gleaming shoe. I tell Portia, though Haymitch told me not to disagree with the stylists, to put my hair in natural waves across my forehead. I've had enough of formal reaping hairstyles for a lifetime.

We sit in a crowded circle, Katniss next to me. She's wearing a long, red and orange dress with rubies on her shoulders and in her hair, which she is wearing up in a mass of braids. When she hitches her skirt up slightly, flames lap up at the hem of her skirt, and I see the other tributes watching enviously. Everyone wants to be on fire today.

The tributes pass in a blur of witty, chatty and nervous children. Not many stand in my mind. A dark coloured boy four times the size of my eldest brother from District Eleven. A pale girl with dark ginger hair from District Five. I nod to Katniss as she passes me to get ready for her interview, and I see from her expression, the way she totters around, she is as nervous as I am.

She twirls in her skirt, she giggles, and she's radiant and emotional when she talks about her sibling. Something that I will never achieve, because no-one in my family is worth getting emotional for. Well, apart from bitter hatred and maybe a new found affect towards me second eldest brother, but that was still a weak alternative towards Katniss' and Prim's relationship.

Then they are calling Peeta Mellark, and I walk on the stage, the lights blinding me, and somehow my hand meets Caesar's to shake it, and I hear the cheers, and I'm sat down, my eyes gazing across the crammed hall.

"So, _Peeta_!" Caesar says enthusiastically. "What's different from the Capitol and District Twelve?"

My eyes focus on Caesar and the answer falls out of my lips without thinking. Haymitch told me which characteristic I will focus on. Funny, humorous, entertaining. "The showers." I say, and vaguely I can hear the crowd laughing. Knowing they will love it, I lean towards Caesar. "Tell me, Caesar, do I smell like roses to you?"

Laughter. Approval. I can almost see Haymitch giving me thumbs up. Caesar and I go through a whole thing where we pretend to sniff and complement each other on our scent of roses, and the crowd are beside themselves with laughter. I lean back in the chair and grin.

"Peeta, do you have a special girl at home?"

I know what Haymitch will want me to do. Act humble. "Erm," I duck behind the waves of blonde. "No,"

"I don't believe it for a second, look at that face! A handsome man like you," Caesar says, and he leans back in his chair, his eyes meeting mine. "Peeta, tell me."

A ghost of a smile dances on my lips. "Well, there is this one girl I've had a crush on forever. But I don't think she knew I was alive before the reaping." An element of this was true, but at least she had remembered me when I had thrown her the bread. I can almost feel the rain against my skin and see the hallow look in her eyes.

"Well, here's what you do, Peeta. You go out there, and you win this thing. And when you get home, she'll have to go out with you. Right folks?" Caesar laughs as the audience shouts encouragingly, but I shake my head.

"Thanks, but I don't think winning is going to help me at all."

"And why not?" Caesar asks curiously.

I bow my head and I watch the glitter sparkle on my shoes in the bright light. "Because she came here with me."


End file.
